


Give me a half of forever

by un_petit_peu_de_moi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - Soulmates, FC Barcelona, M/M, no kids no wives, rated m to be safe, they're all sad, well semi-AU as it's set in the real world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_petit_peu_de_moi/pseuds/un_petit_peu_de_moi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neymar is 16 and getting a mark that says <em> Lionel Messi </em> is only good news until it turns out that Messi doesn't have a mark on his own.</p><p>(the in-universe soulmate fic where love is supposed to be easy but it really isn't)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me a half of forever

**Author's Note:**

> It's too long and I'm tired.  
> Anyway, soulmate fic, it's all pretty self-explanatory. Though, fair warning : Neymar spends a good chunk of that story referring to Leo as Messi, which I know might unnerve some.  
> Also, I realized as I was proofreading that the 'm' key on my keyboard was a bit wacky, and therefore if there are any 'm' randomly missing from words-- I'm truly sorry, I re-read it but there's always some slipping past.

Neymar is 16 when it appears. There's an itch on his inner thigh that he spends two days trying to scratch away. When the third day comes around and Neymar stands naked in the shower, he almost faints when he sees the name, written in neat cursive letters.

 

_Lionel Messi_

 

 _Lionel Messi_ , and now that's a name Neymar is familiar with, that's a name anyone who knows a bit about football is familiar with. That's the name of the long-haired Barça genius, the small one that never goes down and that dribbles past everyone. It's _Lionel freaking Messi_ , and Neymar has many idols for sure but here's one he admires more than the others.

 

It takes him several minutes to calm down, his heart racing and his lips involuntarily stretching into a smile because _Lionel Messi_ , fucking Lionel Messi, Neymar is meant for Leo Messi of all people and it fills him with an immense sense of pride and joy.

 

Neymar isn't even a professional yet – that's for next year he's been told. It feels like a sign – for him to be meant to the greatest player he's ever seen, surely that means Neymar is meant to do great things himself.

 

There is no training that day, and he spends this day watching videos after videos of his soulmate – his _soulmate._ He tastes the words on his tongue with disbelief, and then giggles helplessly. A soulmate, _his_ soulmate

 

He's a bit disappointed at first, because while there's excitation and admiration when he watches Messi's runs, that's nothing new. His dad did tell him marks don't equate to love at first sight, they're more of an indication of the person you'll fall in love with, but Neymar still hoped he would feel _something_. Yet as he watches Messi run and listens to his quiet mumble during interviews, he thinks that maybe yes, he could see himself falling in love with this tiny god.

 

At any rate, nothing can dampen the sheer joy of getting his mark.

 

That evening, when his whole family sits down for dinner he can't keep himself from smiling madly.

 

“Why the smile?” Rafaella asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

 

“I got my mark.”

 

“What?” That's his mom, and then she's hugging him and his dad is laughing.

 

“That's so cool!” Rafa says, and Neymar can't stop smiling.

 

“Wait until I tell you who it is.”

 

“You know who it is?”

 

Neymar nods again, so fast he gets a bit dizzy. He stands up and puts his feet on the table, ignoring his mom's warning. He needs to roll the leg of his shorts all the way up for his mark to be seen, the black letters so far up on his inner thigh that most of his boxer briefs hide them.

 

He hears an audible gasp when his family can see the name, and he stands straight and preens as his sister tries to get a closer look.

 

“As expected of Juninho!” his dad says.

 

His dad promises to get him into Barça and he spends the evening with his sister, making plans, dreaming of the future, giggling as they joke about what the wedding will be like. It's a game of course, but his heart is still beating fast, and his face hurts from how much he's smiling.

 

 

–

 

 

He doesn't tell anyone but his parents. He hides the mark behind a very large band-aid, and when people asks him why he's hiding his mark, he smiles and says _you'll see_.

 

After all, it would be weird to broadcast to the world who his soulmate is, when his soulmate doesn't even know him yet.

 

He isn't sure how to tell Messi though. He imagines he must have a tattoo too; _Neymar_ , it'd say, or maybe _Neymar Jr_ , or _Neymar Da Silva Santos Junior_. He doesn't know, but he can't wait to find out.

 

He absentmindedly remembers that _Neymar_ isn't that common a name, and if his whole name was spelled out on his skin Messi would have found him long ago. But as he imagines himself meeting Messi, he feels anxious because he's nowhere near good enough yet. He's not a pro and Messi is already taking over the world. He can't be his soulmate yet, not at this level, and that's when he takes the decision to wait.

 

He'll go to Barça eventually – his dad said so. By then he'll be good, he'll be skilled, his name will be known thorough the world and when he finally meets Messi, Messi will have already heard of him too. And then they'll become the Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie of football.

 

That last thought is the one that makes him break into a giggling fit, because as stupid as it sounds, it's also exactly what he's going for.

 

 

-

 

 

Neymar isn't as good as he would have liked when he meets Messi for the first time.

 

It's a match between Santos and Barcelona, which is already pretty exciting for a number of reasons. Messi doesn't have long hair anymore, and Neymar has a bleached Mohawk which he thinks is pretty cool. He hopes Messi will like it.

 

His heart thunders away in his ribcage all thorough the match, but he does his best to focus. Santos loses, and Neymar feels bad for how much it's not enough to make him feel bad. They shook hands before the match – Messi's hands are smaller and paler than his but they're steadier and stronger – and his body is tingling everywhere.

 

Nobody knows about Messi's soulmate – the press always wonders because there's no mark visible on his body, but Neymar knows there's his name somewhere. He thinks of the places where it could be hidden during half-time and it flusters him for the rest of the match.

 

He's been thinking about Messi for the last three years, watching him play and watching each and every interviews he could get his hands on. One might say he's slightly obsessed, but it's an impulse he can't control, because there's nothing like the rush he feels when he watches _his_ _soulmate_ plays on the screen. It's not love, of course it can't be, but it's ridiculously easy for Neymar to picture himself falling in love at the bat of an eyelash.

 

He's been waiting for them to meet for so long, and when the match ends, he can't stay in place, showering quickly so he can go to the Barça locker room.

 

It's a bit embarrassing to tell the staff guy that he'd like to meet Messi, but the guys relays his message anyway, and Neymar waits nervously, rubbing his clammy palms on his pants and biting the interior of his cheeks not to grin too stupidly.

 

When Messi shows up, hair damp and freshly showered, the palpitation of his heart assures him that _it's him_ , it can't be anyone else.

 

Messi smiles at him politely. “Hey, you wanted to see me?”

 

Neymar nods and there is it, that face-splitting grin he was trying to stop.

 

“Of course,” he says. “I wanted to greet you, since-- I mean you know,” he mumbles, ducking his head to hide his smile.

 

“Yes?” Messi sounds a bit confused. “You had a great match today.”

 

Neymar's heat skips a beat, the simple compliment enough to make him proud, which he doesn't know if it's due to Messi being _Messi_ , or to him being his soulmate, or both.

 

“Thanks,” Neymar says, and he feels giddy. “You too, I really admire you. I really can't-- I really can't believe my luck.”

 

Messi smiles politely and offers his hand for Neymar to shake.

 

Neymar takes it without a second though, and then Messi pulls him in for a quick hug. He smells nice and clean, and he fits so well in his arms, Neymar's heart almost bursts.

 

And then Messi pulls back, smiles and taps his shoulders, gives him a quick nod and turns around.

 

Neymar watches him take a few steps, confused, before yelling. “Wait!”

 

Messi turns around and tilts his head. “Yes?”

 

He's waiting for Neymar to elaborate, as though what Neymar wants isn't painfully obvious. His mark is itching, has been itching since he first saw Messi today.

 

“Well I--- I mean, I--”

 

He trails off, confused, because he didn't think he'd have to spell it out loud.

 

Or maybe, he realizes painfully, Messi doesn't actually know who he is.

 

“I'm Neymar,” he says, embarrassed that he has to say it, another proof he isn't good enough yet, and suddenly that loss against Barça _does_ feel bad considering he'd failed so so bad at scoring.

 

When Messi gives him nothing more than a confused frown, he adds, “Neymar Junior. Neymar Da Silva Santos. Junior.”

 

He watches as realization _doesn't_ dawn on Messi's face.

 

“I-- yes, I do know your name,” Messi says, looking confused.

 

“Then,” Neymar frowns. “Maybe--- Can I have your number?”

 

Messi looks pretty shocked. “Sorry what?”

 

“I--- Are you sure you know who I am? Doesn't my name ring a bell?” he asks, getting desperate.

 

“Oh,” Messi looks awkward. “I'm sorry but I don't know a lot about you. I don't really watch the Brazilian league.”

 

“I'm not… talking about football I...” his voice trails off. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to do.

 

“Leo!” Someone shouts, a tall man he recognizes as Gerard Pique. “You're coming?”

 

“Yes,” Messi shouts back, turning his body towards his friend. He looks at Neymar one last time before leaving, looking unsure and awkward as he tells him, “Sorry.”

 

He leaves Neymar there, alone in the corridor, rooted in place as he watches his _soulmate_ walk away without having even acknowledged him. That's not-- not how it's supposed to go---

 

He has no idea how he makes it back home. He feels a bit dead inside, and all he knows is that when he comes to his sense he's sobbing in his bed because _why why why what had happened_. Marks never lied, never ever, rejection _wasn't_ a thing, it _wasn't_ supposed to happen.

 

His dad asks if he should stop the on-going talks with Barça, and Neymar doesn't know what to answer to that.

 

 

–

 

 

It takes Neymar a few days to understand. It's a hellish few days, because Neymar feels desperate, but when he realizes it it makes sense – he's not good enough yet. Messi expected better. Of course, Messi is _Messi_ , he cannot be with someone that isn't at least world-level, and Neymar is nowhere near there yet, not even worthy of standing next to him. And the realization, as painful as it is, is also a relief. Because at least there is a reason. He should have known anyway, he should have known.

 

So Neymar works harder. Works until his knees are bloody. Until he's a team player, a top-scorer, the kind of player that annoys defenders with how good he is. He works hard and hard so he'll be good enough.

 

 

-

 

 

Neymar is stupid. He's always been stupid.

 

The news comes a Monday morning. It's rumors, words whispered, tabloids making up fake stories until a magazine asks the burning question in bold letters on its front page.

 

_**DOES LIONEL MESSI HAVE A SOULMATE?** _

 

It doesn't make sense. Neymar doesn't open the magazine because it's impossible, everyone has a soulmate. And more than anyone else, _Neymar_ would know that Messi has a soulmate.

 

He doesn't read the magazine but he doesn't need to, because it's on TV the day after. Messi holds a press conference the very same day, and he says it, out loud for everyone to hear – _It's true that I don't have a mark but that is none of your concern_.

 

_I don't have a mark._

 

Everyone has a name on his body. Neymar has Messi's name on his body. But here Messi is and he says it, he doesn’t have a soulmate, none, never had any.

 

He doesn't pay attention to his parents, looking at him worriedly, his mom hugging his side, his dad frowning. Because it makes sense really, it makes sense that he wouldn't have recognized him, because Neymar isn't his soulmate he isn't---

 

It's hard. It's hard to swallow, when he spend years thinking about it, planning around it, working for it, but it's all a lie in the end. And he thinks of course, _of_ _course_ he's been stupid, of course there are more than one Lionel Messi around, of course of course, he's been presumptuous, what an idiot, what an utter idiot.

 

 

–

 

 

When people ask about the band-aid on his thigh, he stops grinning. No they don't know the guy. Neither does he.

 

 

–

 

 

_(But it doesn't explain why his heart skips a beat every time Messi appears on TV, why he can't stop focusing on him every time he watches a Barça game, why he keeps dreaming, again and again, over and over, about dark eyes and small white hands on his ribs)_

 

 

–

 

 

His dad searches for people named _Lionel Messi_ all over the world. He finds a few. Neymar meets none of them – he looks at the pictures and it's already enough to know they're not the one.

 

(when he dreams, he _knows_ who's the one)

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar decides to go to Barça anyway. He watched so many matches, he ended up falling for the way the club plays footballs, and without him realizing it became yet another dream of his to play at Barça, in Camp Nou, alongside the bests _(alongside Messi)_.

 

Messi is guarded when they meet again, but he doesn't mention the fact Neymar creepily asked for his phone number a few years back.

 

Neymar tells himself he can do it. He isn't meant for Messi (Leo, everyone calls him Leo), there isn't any weird tension between them, so he can just play with his idol and learn from the best. He can do it.

 

 

–

 

 

He can't do it.

 

The longings is there ridiculously fast, the first touch, the first time Messi laughs at one of his bad attempt at a joke, his heart beats fast and he wants he wants, he wants so bad. He feels his mark burning, the name edged into his skin reminding him of things he shouldn't be reminded of, his mind yelling _it's him it's him_.

 

But it _isn't_ , it can't be.

 

He wants to rip his heart out and beat some sense into it but he can't and so he's left with his heart banging in his ribcage every time Messi so much as smiles his way.

 

 

–

 

 

No one mentions the white band-aid that is always covering his inner thigh. Neymar thought they would, trained himself to answer without giving himself away, but no one asks, not even Pique who Neymar wouldn't have pegged as the sensitive type.

 

Messi doesn't ask either, but the first day he _does_ glance at it quickly, looking puzzled for a second before looking away, and he never seemed to have looked at it since.

 

The press does ask though – they're asking more and more with the years. _Who is it, do you know them, why are you hiding their name, are they dead, do they know you?_ All kind of questions Neymar doesn't want to answer, but when he sees the one aimed at Messi, he doesn't complain.

 

(sometimes they ask – _are you like Messi?_ Some have theories that it's the curse of good players. A few also say Messi willingly removed his mark from his body not to be hindered by love. He's also heard people call Messi _soulless_ )

 

 

–

 

 

Everything is harder at Barça – talking, playing, dribbling. Nothing goes as it should, he's too awkward around Messi to befriend him, and it's not what he was hoping for, not at all.

 

It changes one day, casually enough. He's sitting in the locker room, an away match and it's only when Messi sits down next to him that he realizes their lockers are next to each other this time.

 

They won and Messi was amazing today, so when he asks if he can hand him the water, Neymar can't really control himself.

 

“You were amazing today,” he says. “Your passes are just-- whoah! Mind-blowing”

 

Messi looks startled by the sudden compliment, but he nods slowly, smiling a bit.

 

“You're my idol”, Neymar confesses, though it shouldn't be that big a confession.

 

“Thanks,” Messi mumbles, looking embarrassed but pleased. “You're not too bad yourself,” he says teasingly, a smile at the corner of his lips.

 

“Never as good as you. You're part of the reason I wanted to come here,” Neymar admits. _Because you're my soulmate and I love you or at leas_ _t_ _I thought I could love you and I still think I do and I want you so bad and--_ “because I've always dreamed of playing alongside you.”

 

“That's--- thanks.”

 

“And to be honest,” Neymar goes on, “I like playing with you better than playing against you. But you've surely been told that before no?”

 

Messi smiles. “Maybe.”

 

“Do you remember me? From the match against Santos?” Neymar asks before he can stop himself. “I probably didn't make a very good first impression.”

 

Messi frowns. “You were fine, played fine.”

 

“No I mean--- the part where I-- asked for your phone number? That part?” Neymar asks, and he feels embarrassed now. He has no idea why he's bringing that up but he's desperate for anything that would give him a reason to talk to Messi.

 

Messi nods. “That was… a bit weird,” he concedes.

 

“Yes, but you know what really matters now?” Neymar asks, and in front of Messi's confusion, he fishes his phone out and brandishes it. “I have it now!” he exclaims.

 

Messi stares for a second before laughing. “Is that why you're at Barça in the end?”

 

“Of course!” Neymar says, excited like a puppy that Messi is playing with him. “Now I'll be able to use it against you.”

 

“How?”

 

“For blackmail! If you don't do exactly as I say I will sell it to the press,” he threatens with a grave look, making Messi laugh. “I'll sell it to Madrid media so they can harass you.”

 

“Please no,” Messi snorts, smiling widely and there are cute dimples on his face that make Neymar's heart beat faster. “Anything but the Madrid media. What do you want me to do?”

 

Messi scooted closer and Neymar's mind is losing focus because of the smell of sweat clinging to his skin, and the whiteness of his thigh, right next to his – if he moved his thigh just a bit they'd touch.

 

“What do you want to blackmail me for?” Leo clarifies when he fails to answer.

 

“I--,” Neymar shakes out of his reverie, focusing back on Messi's face. Without thinking he asks, “Play Poker with me? Tomorrow?”

 

He doesn't really know where that came from but now it's here and suddenly the playfulness is gone and Neymar just feels awkward.

 

Messi blinks a few times. “You want to... hang out?” he finally asks, and Neymar nods lamely.

 

“Oh uh. Ok, I mean, yeah why not.”

 

“It's fine if you can't,” Neymar says, mortified.

 

“No, no. I'll be there. Your house then?”

 

Neymar nods. And then Messi scoots back and they both find other people to talk to. It's awkward. It's awkward, but Neymar doesn't mind, because for all intents and purposes, he has a _date_ with Messi (at least he considers it's a date).

 

 

–

 

 

Messi does come by the day after, and they play poker. Except Messi never played poker and he loses very lamely, and he refuses to go for another round. He's a sore loser.

 

They retreat to play FIFA but Neymar doesn't stop laughing at the discovery of how much of a sore loser Messi is. Messi kicks him while they play, and gloats when he wins, and complains when he doesn't.

 

It's a pleasant afternoon, overall. They don't have that many common interests, not that many things to share, but it's nice anyway, and Neymar does what he does best – he talks, can't really stop rambling, laughs at his own jokes and Messi smiles at them so he figures it's not too bad.

 

Things are better after that. Not perfect, because Neymar isn't good enough, there are injuries and failures and losses (so many losses), and Neymar is still a bit awkward and Messi a bit closed off, but it's easier anyway. When they meet and talk, they talk more easily, laugh more easily, and it makes him feel better.

 

Neymar stopped searching for other _Lionel Messi_ altogether. He just doesn't want to. He really _really_ doesn't want to.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar stares at Leo under the shower.

 

At first, he just tried, tried so hard to search for a mark on his body (his mark). But even now that he gave up on the idea, he still can't help it. His eyes are drawn to him, and he finds himself sneaking glances after glances at his naked form, trying to drink in the sight.

 

Of course, Leo eventually notices, and he doesn't look happy. He catches his eyes, several times in a row, and finally just straight up glares at him.

 

Damn it.

 

Neymar tries to delay exiting the shower, in hopes he won't have to face Leo. He takes as much time as necessary, goes for an impromptu shaving session, yet his hopes are crushed when he goes out and Leo's waiting for him near his locker, fully dressed.

 

Neymar walks to his locker awkwardly, trying to ignore the ball of anxiety in his belly.

 

Leo doesn't say anything at first while Neymar dries his body, rubbing carefully the waterproof band-aid on his inner thigh. Leo stares at him silently even when he drops the towel to put on his underwear, which makes him feel self-conscious even though he usually isn't. He feels like maybe his abs aren't defined enough, his arms aren't strong enough, his dick isn't big enough, his legs aren't long enough, he's just not good enough and pretty enough--

 

When Leo speaks, Neymar almost yelps.

 

“I don't have a mark.”

 

“What?”

 

“A mark. A soulmate. I don't have one so stop searching for it.”

 

“I---” and for a moment Neymar is relieved that Leo misunderstood his stare. “Sorry, I-”

 

“I know,” Leo's voice wavers for one second. “It's creepy. You never saw that before have you, blank skin. Someone who's made for nobody.”

 

Leo clenches his fists and his shoulders are tense, and Neymar desperately wants to say _for me, you're made for me_ , except it must be a lie because if they were meant to be his name would be on Leo's skin somewhere.

 

“No I swear I wasn't--- It's not why I was looking at you-”

 

“Yeah sure,” Leo snorts.

 

“I swear.”

 

Leo looks on the verge of anger so Neymar blurts out, “I was ogling you!”

 

That stops Leo. He blinks a few times before looking at his beat-red face.

 

“Oh,” he says. “ _Oh,_ ” and Neymar wonders if he’s dreaming the soft hue on his cheeks.

 

Neymar nods. “Yeah. Sorry for that.”

 

“No it's fine, it's—” Leo blinks. “I misunderstood,” he says, and he looks relieved, and Neymar feels bad because he _did_ look for a mark before.

 

“Sorry, it's not--- I mean I'll stop.”

 

Leo smiles shyly. “It's fine don't worry.”

 

When it appears Leo isn’t going to chew him out, he sits down heavily next to Leo, back slumped against the locker.

 

“What about you?” Leo questions. Neymar looks back curiously and Leo nods down at the band-aid peeking out from his underwear. “You cover it.”

 

“Oh,” Neymar shifts involuntarily, pressing a hand down against the spot that starts itching for no reason.

 

“You don't know them?”

 

“Him,” Neymar corrects him. “I do. Know who it is.”

 

He says that before he can think, even though it _can't_ be Leo. But it should be.

 

Leo tilts his head, curious.

 

“It's complicated,” Neymar mumbles.

 

“Is he dead?”

 

“Is he--- no no! He's not it's just--- it's just that, he doesn't. He doesn't know. And he never will.”

 

He knows his answers raises more questions than they answer, but Leo doesn't push. He says, “Sorry for you.” And then he smiles kindly, and he looks somehow-- almost glad. “And here I thought I was the only one who had trouble with that soulmate stuff.”

 

And Neymar gets it – Leo thinks Neymar's like him, sad and fucked up. And he feels so bad to have Leo sympathize wit him over something like that, wants to tell him he's wrong, but Leo smiles at him like they’re friends and they have something special, so he keeps his mouth shut.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar can't stop staring, but the next time Leo catches him looking, he smiles a bit slyly and when Neymar turns away quickly, embarrassed, he can swear he hears Leo laugh.

 

Since it doesn't seem to bother him, he never really stops staring.

 

 

–

 

 

The season is almost over and they won nothing. A trophyless season hurts, Neymar's first season sucks, and now there's the World Cup to get ready for and it's hard to change your mindset so quickly.

 

Still, Neymar feels unreasonably happy because Leo's hanging around at his place.

 

They drank some beers, not enough to be drunk, just enough to be tipsy and loud while they played FIFA. Now the TV is still on, tuned on the discovery channel because Leo has the remote and he's too lazy to move. They're draped over the couch like sloths,sporting double chins because of how deep they sunk into the couch. Neymar makes commentary about the animals and Leo chuckles lazily, too tired to actually burst out laughing.

 

Leo is sitting on his left, and Neymar's hand is in Leo's lap. He isn't sure how it happened – he thinks he was reaching for the remote, and he just let his hand here and Leo didn't push it. It's on Leo's thigh, and Neymar absentmindedly thinks it's where his own mark is.

 

Sometimes Neymar dreams his name on Leo's skin. It hurts to know that Leo won't ever be his, not in the way he's Leo's.

 

His parents are worried, they keep asking about his mark, his soulmate, and Neymar insists he's searching for him but he isn't. He stopped searching, because he wants no one else but Leo, and if his soulmate isn't Leo then he doesn't want a soulmate. And this mindset more than anything else is what makes him sure that Leo _is_ his soulmate. Yet, somehow, there's no mark on his skin.

 

Neymar lifts his right arm to point at the TV.

 

“Your family,” he says, as a group of lion naps on the screen.

 

Leo giggles, like it's funnier than it actually is.

 

“Your brother,” Neymar goes on, and when a giraffe appears, “Geri!”

 

Leo laughs louder, and Neymar feels his thigh vibrating under his hand.

 

“Who are you?” Leo says, his voice slurred, less by alcohol than by sheer laziness to pronounce words correctly.

 

“The tiger.”

 

Leo shakes his head. “No---” he waits, watching as the camera pans out and suddenly it's a chase, the lion running after an antelope. “You're the antelope.”

 

“No!” Neymar protests. And then, “You're chasing me!”

 

Leo laughs, and Neymar thinks somehow, maybe he really is an antelope, and Leo really is the lion, the king of the jungle, that is chasing him and cornering him and Neymar is only there for him to eat. The lion bites the antelope's leg and it stops running.

 

They watch the documentary until the end, grimacing when it gets to mating.

 

(“yeah elephants are--- is it just me or is it getting a bit awkward?”

 

“not just you. Just stare somewhere else.”

 

“no but like, doesn't it _hurt_?”

 

“don't ask _me_.”)

 

When the documentary ends, it's eerily silent in Neymar's living room. Leo turns the TV off with the remote, and neither of them are talking, just breathing close. Now that they aren't focused on the TV screen, his hand on Leo's thigh seems glaringly obvious and inappropriate, and he tries to think of ways to take it away without making it awkward.

 

“That's where yours are,” Leo says when Neymar's hand moves just an inch

 

Neymar turns his head to look at him confusedly, and Leo covers his hand with his own.

 

“That's where your mark is.”

 

Ah.

 

“Yes,” Neymar confirms softly. Leo never breaches the subject of soulmates, acts like it's not a Thing and Neymar doesn't know what to expect from this conversation.

 

“How old were you?”

 

“16,” Neymar answers. “The average.”

 

Leo considers his answer for a few seconds.

 

“I didn't care at first. About the marks. I was all about football, and it didn't matter, I thought it'd show up anyway so I wasn't worried.”

 

Leo taps his fingers against his hand as he talks, and Neymar isn't sure what do to with himself because he hadn't though Leo would ever open up to him.

 

“I didn't worry until I was 18, and everyone around me had--” he trails off. “I started wanting one. And it didn't come. There were a few people, who came, with my name. But I didn't have theirs.”

 

He exhales painfully, and Neymar tries to keep himself from gripping Leo's thigh while Leo starts caressing his hand.

 

“I dreamed, about a mark. I fantasized about where it'd be. I didn't care who as long as--- it never came.”

 

Neymar doesn't dare look at his face, doesn't want to see the pain he hears in his voice.

 

“The doctors said it could be due to the growth hormone deficiency, that it somehow fucked up my body, and that maybe I had a soulmate even if I didn't have a mark. So when people with a mark that spelled my name came, I gave them a try, every time, but it only took me 5 minutes to _know_ it wasn't them. That they weren't mine. But I was stupid so I still tried, each and every time.”

 

Leo snorts, mocking himself, and Neymar digs his finger into his flesh through the fabric of his sweatpants.

 

“It took me years to realize what was wrong. Me. I was wrong. And when I realized it it was so _obvious_. I don't have a mark because I don't have a soulmate. Because there's no one made for me.”

 

Leo's voice is calm, even, like he somehow made peace with that, and parts of Neymar wish he was crying.

 

“When I'm too old to play football-- It's just football. It's all I have, you know?” Leo turns to him and smiles so sadly at him. “Football is the only thing I have.”

 

There's a sound, like a whine or a sob, but Leo's mouth is closed and Neymar realizes it comes from him. He surges forward before Leo has the time to react, and kisses him plain on the lips. It's desperate, and he sobs in Leo's mouth because he can imagine it so well : Leo, young and pure Leo, longing for years for something until he simply decided he was the problem, and the image hurts, it hurts so much. He wants Leo to be fine, he wants Leo to be happy and feel loved.

 

The kiss is wet, which he dimly realizes is due to the tears streaming down his face and gathering on his lips. It's probably a pitiful kiss, probably the worst kiss Leo ever had, and he feels so bad about not being able to even give Leo a worthy kiss but Leo doesn't seem to mind, kissing back, slipping a hand into his hair and playing with strands.

 

“Why are you crying?” Leo asks softly against his lips, his fingers so nice as they rub his scalp to comfort him.

 

“I'm sorry,” Neymar chokes. “I'm sorry.” _Sorry you're hurting,_ _sorry I can't hurt for you_ , _sorry you're opening up to me because you think I'_ _m_ _a bit like you, sorry I'm lying to you,_ he wants to say.

 

Leo holds him while his body shakes, and when he calms down and his sobs turn to sniffling, Leo presses a kiss against the side of his head and murmurs, _thank you_.

 

That night Neymar dreams of a name showing up on Leo's skin – a name, any name, as long as there was someone somewhere that could make Leo happy.

 

 

–

 

 

And then-- then there's the World Cup, not going as well as he'd hoped. And then not going at all.

 

Neymar receives a call from Leo in the hospital. He's still lying in bed, and his back hurts terribly but it's nothing as bad as his heart. It aches, it aches so bad, because it was his dream, it was his dream and---

 

Neymar gave Leo a special ringtone, and stupidly, easily, when he recognizes the tune his heart lifts for a second, forgetting where he is and why he's there. And then he does, and for the first time in his life he hesitates before taking Leo's call.

 

Of course, he answers in the end.

 

“Neymar,” Leo says, breathless. “Are you ok?”

 

There's an urgency in his voice that surprises him.

 

“Yes.”

 

Neymar absentmindedly thinks it's the first time they talked since Neymar kissed him. He listens to Leo exhale on the other end of the line, listens as his breathing seems to be more controlled with each passing seconds.

 

“No you're not.”

 

“I'm not,” Neymar admits. “But I'm not dead.”

 

“Don't talk about that,” Leo says, voice pinched.

 

Neymar chuckles, even though it isn't really funny.

 

“I'm surprised you're calling me,” he ends up saying. “You usually don't do that.”

 

Leo is the kind of people that likes to be left alone with his problems, and he tends to give others the treatment he likes to receive.

 

“I couldn't-” Leo's voice is strangled. He sounds a bit weird, and like _he_ doesn't quite get why he's being weird. “Seeing you, go down like that, for some reason I _knew_ it was bad. I was just-- worried,” he finishes quietly, sounding almost embarrassed.

 

Neymar's heart skips a beat, and it's maybe the only good thing to come out of his predicament. Still, he doesn't want Leo to feel awkward, so he jokes, “Aaaaw Leo. Don't worry, Brazil is going to kick your ass with or without me.”

 

Leo gives a startled laugh, and counters, “I'd like to see that happen!” but he sobers up quickly. “I'm sorry it happened to you,” he says sincerely.

 

“Leo...”

 

“Look, I have training to attend but, if you need anything-- tell me.”

 

“Ok,” Neymar says quietly, and they both know there's nothing Leo can do but the words still warm him. “And Leo--”

 

“What?”

 

“Thanks. For calling I mean. It means a lot.”

 

“You don't need to thank me for that,” Leo mumbles softly.

 

And it's like Leo said, Neymar isn't fine, he hurts, _fuck_ he hurts. But he has faith in his team and in Leo, and he thinks, somehow, that he will be fine.

 

 

–

 

 

His team doesn't win.

 

 

–

 

 

Neither does Leo.

 

 

–

 

 

It happens naturally in the end.

 

Neymar worried during the whole summer, because the last time they'd seen each other Neymar had kissed him, and they'd never really talked about it. There's also the world cup, and Neymar fears it could hang heavily between them.

 

(He called Leo several times after Argentina's loss but Leo never picked up)

 

It turns out he didn't have any reason to worry, because when he sees Leo again, Leo smiles at him and everything is fine in the world.

 

And then later that day, he finds himself pressed against the door of a toilet stall, and Leo is kissing him and groaning into his mouth.

 

Leo's fingers sneak under his shirt, tracing the contours and dips of the corset he's wearing, feather-like touches that frustrates Neymar because he feels them without _really_ feeling them. Leo's kiss is passionate and lazy, just like he is, and Neymar can't resist touching him everywhere he can reach, ultimately palming his ass and Leo bites on his lips in retaliation.

 

Leo doesn't ask _are you fine_ but Neymar hears it anyway. He hopes Leo can hear it too, in the way he moans in his mouth and digs his fingers into the flesh of his butt.

 

They end up rutting in this stall like hormonal teenagers. Leo grounds against him, pressing his bulge against his own and when Neymar lets out a long barely sustained moan, he feels Leo smiling against his lips. Neymar tugs his head back, presses his thumbs into Leo's dimples, and even if it's quick and messy, even if Leo is careful not to jolt him too much because of his back, even if there are things left unsaid between them, at this moment Neymar feels at peace.

 

In this toilet stall, he finally feels like he belongs.

 

 

–

 

 

The next time it happens, Neymar comes prepared. When he steps through Leo's door, he walks straight to the table and empties his bag on it. Loads of condoms of all sizes and lubes of all scents falls down, and when he turns to Leo, a serious scowl on his face, Leo is laughing madly, holding his belly and his eyes crinkled shut, and he doesn't stop laughing even when Neymar starts kissing him.

 

And Neymar loves him. He loves him so bad. When Leo kisses him and smiles against his lips, when he fiddles with his earrings and tugs like he knows Neymar's weak spots before he even had to discover them, when he brushes his fingers against his skin reverently and takes his time to map him out, when he lets Neymar ride him, soft black hair stuck on his smooth white skin, when he holds onto his ribs and tell him he's beautiful, when he kisses him like he's precious and unravels him like he already knows him inside-out – _he loves him he loves him he loves him_.

 

 

–

 

 

It becomes a thing. One they do not name, but a thing nonetheless.

 

There's always that band-aid on his skin, and he knows it can't be perfect if he keeps things from Leo, but he thinks, maybe, he can have Leo like that. Maybe a mark will appear eventually, Neymar's name, on Leo's body. Maybe it's already there and they haven't seen it yet.

 

He tries to take what Leo offers but he can't help asking sometimes, when the mark on his thigh itches too bad--

 

“But what if there was someone with _your_ name?”

 

Leo makes an annoyed noise, but he doesn't shy away from the topic now. “It wouldn't be mine. I'm not the only Lionel Messi out there.”

 

“It's not that common a name,” Neymar counters. “What if there was someone? Meant for you? That had your name--”

 

“If there was such a person, I would have their name too.”

 

“But what if---”

 

“Neymar,” Leo says, curtly, annoyed.

 

He never lets Neymar goes too far, always annoyed when he starts this train of thought. He refuses the idea that there's someone out there for him, and of course he would, when he spends so many years hoping and no one came. Neymar knows why Leo is closed off, knows it's the only way he had to protect himself, but he can't help probing, because the closer he grows to Leo the more it is impossible to tell himself that Leo isn't his soulmate.

 

He wants to show his mark to Leo, tell him he's his, tells him he's certain he's the one, but he fears Leo will reject him, he'll close off and tell him to search for someone else, and then he won't even have this unnamed thing between them, those lengthy hugs and those lazy kisses, and Leo calling him Ney and taking him apart him like he's got him all figured out already but he still want to take the time to figure him out some more.

 

Still, Neymar can never be deterred for long, and it's a never-ending circle; he always ends up probing.

 

“I'm just saying,” Neymar says, worked up, “that it could be.”

 

“No,” Leo answers harshly. He's tying up his shoes and he's clearly staring to get annoyed with Neymar.

 

“But, if there was someone, with your name, and who'd searched everywhere else, and there was only you left?”

 

“They wouldn't have searched enough.”

 

“But wouldn't you spend time with them at least? Talk to them? To see if--”

 

“ _No_ , because I already know it's not me.”

 

“But that wouldn’t be fair!” Neymar protests. He wonders if it's the afterglow of his climax that is making him so brave. “What if it's them? You could at least give it a try.”

 

“No-”

 

“BUT if the doctors had been right, if it was a hormone thing and there was someone with your name, if it was _yours_ , yours for real then--”

 

“Then I'd tell them to fuck off!” Leo stands up and glares at him so intensely it pins him on the spot. “I'd tell them to fuck off and that they're ten years too late!”

 

Neymar shuts up, and his heart aches like it always does when Leo is distressed. Leo glares and he cowers under his stare, and then Leo storms off without giving him the time to apologize.

 

He thinks of Leo's words – _ten_ _years_ _too late_ , and he thinks of a younger Leo willing to give everyone a chance, and _he's stupid he's_ _so_ _stupid_. He should have come when his mark appeared – Leo was barely 21 then, he'd have given Neymar a chance. But Neymar had to go and be a selfish fucking idiot, a self-centered dumbass, so focused on his own comfort, on being good enough, that he hadn't stopped to think that Leo may have been waiting for him all this time.

 

Neymar cries this night, because he's useless and worthless, because if only he hadn't been an utter coward Leo would have given him a chance, and Neymar would have loved him enough to make him feel loved and worthy, but instead Leo's broken and that's his fault.

 

 

–

 

 

It takes Neymar a day to manage to overcome his self-pity enough to apologize to Leo. Leo nods, curtly, and he looks pained, and Neymar hates how he's the one hurting him, making him think about things he doesn't want to think about.

 

Leo fucks him more roughly than usual, a bruising grip on his hips, but Neymar feels so bad this somehow feels like salvation. He begs for _more_ , _harder_ , and Leo complies.

 

 

–

 

 

He probably should have expected the Messi Defense Squad to gang up on him.

 

Well, it's really just Geri and Xavi, one tall enough to be scary, and the other just scary. They corners him before he can exit the bathroom, and he knows form the look on their faces he's in for a Talk.

 

“What do you want from Leo?” Gerard asks. “Are you playing with him?”

 

“What?” Neymar asks incredulously.

 

“I told you not to talk before me,” Xavi throws an annoyed look at Gerard, before fixing his unwavering eyes back on him. “We simply want to know what your intention are with Leo.”

 

“Well I--”

 

“Because you see,” Xavi goes on, “We don't want you to hurt Leo.”

 

“I'm not going to hurt him!”

 

“And yet,” Xavi says calmly. “You bothered him with things he doesn't like hearing.”

 

“I-”

 

“You're just going to hurt him,” Gerard cuts in angrily. “You have a mark haven't you? You have someone. Leo, he doesn't, he never will. What are you going to do with him? What will you do when your soulmate show up? You'll leave him and--”

 

“I won't!” Neymar protests. “I won't.”

 

“How can you be so sure? We all know you have a mark,” he says, glancing at his thigh pointedly.

 

“I just know. I love _Leo_.”

 

“I thought I'd loved girls too, and then I met Shakira,” Gerard says.

 

“What, you'd rather I stopped being with him?” Neymar says, voice strangled, because it doesn't make sense, and because he's scared, because he doesn't have the strength to leave Leo.

 

Gerard frowns. “No. It's too late now, he already likes you. You should be with your soulmate, that's how it is but--- I don't know why you aren't but I know you _will_ be. I just… Leo has been hurt enough.”

 

Gerard looks down, seemingly pained on behalf of his childhood friend, and Neymar suddenly wonders if that's what Leo thinks too, that Neymar is going to leave him even though--

 

“I won't leave him,” Neymar says in a soft voice. “I promise I won't.”

 

Gerard shakes his head, and it's Xavi who speaks up next.

 

“Don't make that kind of promises. You might feel like you love Leo now, but you don't know what love is until you meet your soulmate.”

 

“No,” Neymar insists. “I _know_ I won't leave him.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Gerard counters, looking upset again. “You will. Leo is happy being around you right now but even he knows you're going to leave him. All we want is for you to be careful when you inevitably break his heart.”

 

“No-” Neymar's voice wavers as he imagines it. Would he break Leo's heart? Does Leo even love him? The thought of hurting Leo makes him sick and he starts shaking. “I love him, you don't get it I-”

 

“Neymar,” Xavi cuts in before he starts panicking. “Calm down. We just want to make sure you know what you're doing with him.”

 

“I don't. I don't know.”

 

Xavi frowns and Neymar thinks _fuck it._

 

It's an impulse he's had since he was 16, and the name of his idol showed on his skin one morning. He shoves his pants down, ignoring Gerard's _'wow there-',_ rolling up the leg of his boxer briefs and tearing the band-aid away.

 

His actions are met with silence.

 

He doesn't dare look at their face, leaning against the wall behind him and letting them stare.

 

“Oh Ney,” Geri eventually says, voice filled with pity and sympathy. He walks to him and rubs his head, and Neymar slumps against his broad chest.

 

“You think it's Leo?” Xavi asks.

 

“I _know_ it is. I'm sure of it.”

 

“Why don't you tell him?”

 

Neymar pulls his boxer back down, hiding his mark.

 

“He would push me away.”

 

“But he likes you,” Gerard says. “If he's your soulmate he wouldn't--”

 

“He would. I asked him, several times. He said-- he said he'd tell anyone with his name to fuck off.”

 

He looks up just in time to see Geri pull a face before Xavi hits his head.

 

“He didn't know what he was saying,” Xavi says. “He tells himself that's how he'd react not to be hurt, but if _you_ came up with his name, he'd react differently.”

 

Neymar shakes his head. “I--”

 

“He likes you a whole lot,” Geri says, and it's not the first time he said it but it still hasn't really sunk in. “Masche said that, when you were injured during the World Cup, he was really distressed and restless, more than he ever saw him. Maybe-- maybe he does have a soulmate? Maybe the doctors have been right all along?”

 

Gerard sounds hopeful and Neymar would be too but---

 

“No,” he says. “I can't take the risk. If he pushes me away-- I'd rather have him like that than not have him at all.”

 

Gerard and Xavi looks at him sympathetically, but they don't try to force his hand. Geri drops a kiss at the top of his head and Xavi pats his shoulders, and for all that he feels worse it makes him feel a bit better.

 

 

–

 

 

Naturally, he goes straight to Leo afterward, and as soon as the door is open, he blurts out, “I love you.”

 

Leo stills. He stares at him for several seconds, and Neymar sees it, even if it's quick – he see his eyes flickering down to where his mark is.

 

So Neymar repeats it louder, “I love you.”

 

Leo stares at him, guarded. “You have a soulmate.”

 

“I don't care,” Neymar says. “I only want you.”

 

Leo frowns and shakes his head, a denial ready at the tip of his tongue.

 

“Leo, Leo are you listening? I love you.”

 

Leo looks ready to bolt so Neymar comes in before he can close the door. He backs him against the wall and kisses him and repeats it, chants it, _I love you_ , and Leo shudders against him.

 

Leo lets go eventually, and he holds him close, and he says, _say it again_ so Neymar does, and he feels Leo giving himself, letting go, bits by bits, yielding Neymar his love – it's there at the tip of his tongue, at the brush of his lips. Leo is passionate, desperate when he fucks him, kissing all around his face and looking shaken every time Neymar says, _I love you_.

 

 

–

 

 

Of course Neymar should have known it wasn't enough. It couldn't be enough.

 

Leo doesn't seem to believe him when he says he loves him, or he looks pained like it's all temporary. Sometimes he looks at him like he's angry, sometimes like he's heartbroken. He never ever touches the band-aid on his inner thigh, doesn't even brush it when they have sex, but sometimes, sometimes Neymar finds angry scratch marks around it, his skin bloody and torn by Leo's short blunt nails.

 

Sometimes Leo looks at his thigh and he gets _that_ look on his face.

 

“I'm not going to leave,” Neymar says quickly, every time.

 

“You have a soulmate Neymar,” Leo says. “Marks are never wrong.”

 

And truly, marks are never wrong, because Neymar has Leo's name on his skin and he loves him, God he loves him.

 

“I promise.” Neymar says desperately, because he could make it work like until the end of time, but Leo looks like he'll break before he even reaches the end of tomorrow.

 

Leo shakes his head and draws back, the air thick with his anguish and pain.

 

“I could get it removed,” Neymar says without thinking. “With laser. I could, I could get your name tattooed instead, wherever you want I could--”

 

“Neymar,” Leo hisses, angry. “Don't say shit like that. Don't joke around.”

 

“I'm not joking.”

 

Leo glares at him, and it's enough of an answer. Leo scoots at the other end of the couch, pretends to be invested in the TV show, but Neymar sees how tense he is, how his muscles are almost trembling from how taut they are.

 

And sometimes Neymar thinks it'd be easier to show Leo his mark, so he would stop thinking he's going to be left behind. But then he remembers Leo's anger and his frustration, _I'd tell them to fuck off_ , and Neymar can't get over his fear of rejection. He'd rather Leo were scared all his life, he'd rather reassure him and kiss his worry away every time, than risk losing Leo forever.

 

 

–

 

 

Forever is a concept that only belongs to soulmates. But since Neymar has a mark, he thought he'd at least get a half of forever.

 

He doesn't.

 

It's the beginning of January. Everything is going fine, the sun shines in the cold winter weather, his dog barks happily outside and Leo is hard against his thigh but laughing into his neck.

 

“Don't laugh,” he whines. “You don't understand what it feels like to hear you sister talk about pegging. I didn't even know what pegging was!”

 

Leo laughs harder, his hands skipping along his ribs, fiddling with the waistband of his sweatpants.

 

“And you do now?”

 

“Of course I do!”

 

“And tell me, how did you find out?”

 

“No!” Neymar squeaks, and Leo bursts out laughing, his breath ghosting against his face and Neymar feels warm. There's a pleasant buzz in his body, the kind he gets every time he's around Leo. “No, no. I've never been with a girl, ever.”

 

“Oh, you've never been curious?” Leo probes, and his hand slips teasingly under the waistband of his pants, and he seems surprised when instead of the raw fabric of his boxer briefs he's met with the sensitive skin of his dick and Neymar lets out a shaky moan.

 

“Really?” Leo says, cocking an eyebrow. “You're dirty-minded.”

 

And then Leo's fingers brush against his band-aid and it's like a switch. Leo frowns, and usually he'd move his hand away and pretend nothing happened, but today his fingers press against the spot, hard enough that it hurts.

 

“Never with girls,” Leo repeats, resuming the conversation as though the mood hadn't changed. “Only with boys right.” Leo's breathing is eerily calm and Neymar loses his hard-on so fast it's like it's never been there at all. “What about your soulmate? Has he ever touched you?”

 

“What?”

 

“Did you meet him? You say you know who it is, and he can't not know who _you_ are. So you must have met him right? What did you do with him?”

 

Leo sounds harsh, and Neymar is all too aware of the fact he's lying on top of him, and it was nice before but now he feels caged, and there's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow around.

 

“It doesn't matter-”

 

“It _does_. It does matter,” Leo's voice cuts in, cold and unforgiving. “You're someone else's. You're going to leave me, you're going to belong to someone else even though you're the only thing _I_ have.” He stares down at him, anger and jealousy barely hiding the distress and pain underneath.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Stop saying that,” Leo hisses. “Stop, stop lying to me.”

 

“I'm not--”

 

“You _are_.” Leo digs his nails into the band-aid so hard they sting his skin and Neymar flinches. “You know, you _know_ who it is, you've always known who it was--”

 

“Leo--”

 

“But you're here with me, you’re just playing, you're going to leave me-”

 

“ _Leo_ ,” Neymar begs more desperately.

 

“It makes me so mad, it makes me so mad to think someone else will have you, someone else will love you, it makes me so mad I want--” Leo closes his eyes briefly, like he's in pain, and his voice comes out pained. “I want to kill him.”

 

“Leo,” Neymar calls, voice high-pitched and breathy.

 

“Do you understand what that feels like? I'm so mad, I need---” his fingers digs even more into his band-aid, and next thing he knows Leo is trying to pull his sweatpants off. “Show me who it is,” he says, an order that sounds like a plea.

 

And Neymar, he doesn't have time to think, there are too many things happening and all he knows is that Leo shouldn't see that mark, so he struggles, tries to push Leo's hands away. But Leo is stronger than him and he doesn't give up, repeating, _show me, I need to know who it is_ , like it's killing him, and Neymar chants _please Leo stop_ \--

 

The struggle doesn't last that long. Leo manages to tear his pants down, and Neymar tries to push him away, desperately, but Leo catches one of his wrist and before Neymar can start kicking it's done – Leo peeled the band-aid off.

 

Neymar doesn't want to watch that scene unfold. He throws his free arm over his eyes, hiding, and then he waits.

 

He waits.

 

He waits, listens to a breathing so soft he barely hears it.

 

He finally moves his arm, just a bit, just to look at Leo's face and he looks---

 

Leo is still, his eyes wide open, shell-shocked. He looks like a statue, but one carved in terror.

 

“Leo?” Neymar whispers, and that shakes Leo out of his stupor.

 

When they eyes meet Leo recoils, and then he's stumbling away from the couch as though someone had hit him.

 

“I--” Leo stutters and he looks so confused and shocked and lost.

 

“Leo,” Neymar calls louder this time, but Leo doesn't give him the time to explain.

 

He runs away.

 

He runs away, leaving Neymar alone on his couch, naked from the waist down and cold and burning at the same time.

 

And Neymar knew it. He knew it couldn't be good, he knew he shouldn't have let it happen, he should have scratched his mark away, should have burned it with a lighter until the letters couldn't be read anymore. He takes a pillow and buries his face into it, crying and yelling his anguish, wetting the fabric with gallons and gallons of tears.

 

He ruined it, he ruined everything, and now Leo won't want him, he won't love him, he'll never take him back, he'll never forgive him, he'll _never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever--_

 

 

–

 

 

_-ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever--_

 

 

–

 

 

And after that, nothing.

 

Leo avoids him. Leo doesn't talk to him. Leo doesn't meet his eyes but sometimes stares at him when Neymar can't see (but he knows anyway, he feels his eyes on him, he always feels his stare like it's burning his skin).

 

And Neymar-- Neymar is devastated. Like his bones are cracking and his guts are tearing open, and he wakes up everyday wanting to fall back asleep. He never knew rejection could hurt that much, but he doesn't think anyone could – soulmates aren't supposed to reject you, fuck, _soulmates aren't supposed to reject you_. It's the only person in the world that is supposed to stand by your side, always, and it's hard, it's pretty hard not to feel worthless when his heart isn't beating for anyone anymore.

 

He watches, helplessly, as Lucho and Leo get into an argument not long after. He doesn't even know why for sure, but they're arguing loudly and Leo looks mad, madder than he has right to be. He knows it's his fault, he knows Leo is worked up and confused because of him, and Neymar is stupid and Geri and Xavi were right, he shouldn't have hooked up with Leo in the first place, all of this could have been avoided.

 

So when the team crumbles, naturally, it has to be his fault.

 

And when things start clicking back together, it's already too late, and he can't score for shit. He doesn't enjoy playing, unreasonably, irrationally scared every time he passes the ball to Leo and Leo passes it back to him, as if telling him that the doesn't want him, as if rejecting him so completely he doesn't even want his passes, and it's stupid, it's so stupid, but Neymar can't score for shit and he's glad Luis and Leo works well together but he feels like he doesn't belong anymore.

 

He only belongs by Leo's side but if Leo doesn't want him, he feels like Camp Nou won't want him either, because Camp Nou is Leo's kingdom and Neymar has never been more than his subject.

 

 

–

 

 

It takes three full weeks for Leo to decide they need to talk. That day when Neymar exits the shower, the locker-room is already empty. All the guys are gone, except Leo.

 

Leo is sitting on the bench right next to his and Neymar feels dread because he knows they're going to talk. He's been wanting for Leo to talk to him for weeks and now that it's happening he wants to run away, because the only thing Leo could have to say is _no_.

 

He walks up to his bench anyway, sits down heavily to check on his phone like he usually does, pretending his hands aren't clammy and shaky.

 

“Ney,” Leo calls out, voice soft, and it stupidly makes him feel warm to have Leo say his name, again.

 

He squeezes his phone in his hand and steels his resolve, looking at Leo to indicate he should go on.

 

Leo's next words sound like an apology.

 

“It can't be me.”

 

And there it is, rejection.

 

“It _is_ you.”

 

Leo shakes his head. “Ney, I don't--”

 

“It _is_ you,” Neymar insists, because if there's one thing his dumb brain is sure of it's _that_.

 

Leo shakes his head, and he talks to him like he's a little kid who needs to be explained things carefully.

 

“Look I know it's not that common a name but I've met enough people whose mark spelled my name to know there are other Lionel Messi in this world. You should--” he looks pained as he says, “you should have told me from day one, I'd have cleared it up for you.”

 

“If I'd told you from day one you'd never have let me try anything.”

 

“Because you think we're happier like this?” Leo asks, bewildered. “Don't you think it's hard for me, to say that when I--- I _wish_ I could be your soulmate but I'm not, Ney. I'm nobody's soulmate.”

 

“You're mine,” Neymar says, and he can see it irks Leo. “I love you.”

 

Leo's body is tense and there's an edge to his voice, almost anger when he says, “ _Don't_ ,” his tone curt and clipped.

 

“Are you going to deny me my own feelings?” Neymar asks, voice high and breathless. “You think I can't distinguish between a crush and a _soulmate_? You think I haven't thought about it, about my soulmate being someone else? It's-- fuck Leo, it's _you_.”

 

“It's not,” Leo says, almost hisses, almost glares.

 

“It is!” and now Neymar is the one angry. “Stop telling me it's not, I know it is. It's bad enough feeling rejected, don't invalidate--” he stops to swallow, unwilling to let his tears fall. He tries to calm down before resuming. “You know what they say about soulmates? About what it feels like? About how you can't describe it? That's what I feel for you. I love you. I love you more than I have words to say it. I know _I know_ what my feelings are. I've tried to make it stop but it doesn't, because that's what soulmate do, they get under your skin and they never leave.”

 

Neymar presses his phone against his thigh, just where his mark is hidden, in a vain attempt to hide what feels like the most vulnerable part of himself.

 

“I don't have your name, Neymar,” Leo whispers.

 

“But I have yours,” he answers, voice shaky. “Maybe, maybe that's how it's meant to be. You're my soulmate, but I'm not yours. If there is someone in this world that doesn't have a mark, then maybe, there's also someone whose mark is one-sided.”

 

That idea hurts when it leaves his mouth, coated in anguish and fatality, but it makes sense at least. He's bound to love Leo forever, and Leo is bound to never love anyone, maybe that's how it works.

 

“I know what I feel Leo. The only question here is : how do _you_ feel? As for myself I made up my mind long ago.”

 

Leo looks lost, again, and hurt, again, frowning and tense and Neymar wants to make him feel better but Leo wouldn't let him. He stares at him silently, and Neymar can see him trying to make sense of everything, but at least he doesn't deny Neymar loves him this time.

 

“Can you leave?” Neymar pleads when Leo doesn't move. “Please, I need to--”

 

_I need to cry my heart out because you'll never love me back like I love you but you still love me enough for me to hurt you and I hate myself and I want to cry until there's no water left in me and my body is as dry and empty as my heart feels._

 

He trails off and he doesn't know what Leo assumes he wanted to say, but he stands up stiffly, and Neymar watches him leave, again.

 

It hurts.

 

 

–

 

 

Two months. Or close to two months. Neymar still can't score for shit, they say he's out of form and Neymar wants to laugh and say he's out of _everything_.

 

He and Leo still don't talk – Leo looks perpetually lost in his thoughts, except it doesn't affect his performance on the pitch.

 

( _football is_ _the only thing_ _I have_ , Leo had told him, and he's just glad he can keep it together out there)

 

Two months, and Leo shows up on his doorstep one evening, clad in a black shirt that make his arms look good, contrasting starkly with his pale skin and the colorful tattoo that is now adorning his right arm. Neymar tries to hide his shock and he tries even harder to hide his eagerness. He leads Leo to his living room, sits down on his couch and fully expects Leo to follow suit but Leo stands far away, shuffling from one feet to another.

 

Neymar had hoped that maybe, it wouldn’t be awkward. Leo wanted to pretend to be friend again, they'd play a game of FIFA and Neymar would just have to be content with having Leo by his side as a friend and everything would be fine again but clearly those aren't Leo's plans.

 

Neymar finds himself fidgeting too, trying and failing to play it cool. Leo's eyes are starring holes into him and there's no way he can stay cool when Leo is concerned.

 

“You want to dri-”

 

“You know how you said,” Leo's voice interrupts him and Neymar is as apprehensive as he is relieved. “That maybe, your mark was one-sided?”

 

Neymar nods. Of course he remembers.

 

“That's impossible,” Leo says.

 

“And yet,” Neymar answers dryly, casting his eyes away.

 

“If such an unrequited love existed-- if such a thing existed it couldn't happen to you. Not to _you_. You don't deserve that.”

 

Neymar frowns. He looks back at Leo because _really_ , what is that supposed to mean. Leo's eyes are focused and clear, devoid of doubts. He doesn't look so lost or scared anymore.

 

“And yet,” Neymar repeats.

 

Leo shakes his head. “You don't deserve it,” he repeats. “So if- if I'm your soulmate, and if it's impossible for your mark to be one-sided, then maybe-- maybe you're my soulmate, too.”

 

He drops it like a bomb and Neymar stills, wide-eyed. He doesn't dare think about Leo's words because he's scared it won't sound as good once he mulls them over.

 

“If bonds are something you're supposed to feel, if a soulmate is supposed to be someone you can't live without then--- then I think you're the closest thing I've ever had to a soulmate.”

 

Leo is careful and restrained even now, but it doesn't matter because--

 

“Leo,” he croaks out.

 

“You said the only thing that wasn't sure was how I felt right? That's how I feel. When I-” his eyes drift to his thigh, and Neymar self-consciously hides his clothed mark. “When I thought about the fact you were meant for someone else, I-- it made me so mad. It made me so mad Ney you have no idea. I didn't want to ever let you go. I wished I could have kept you to myself forever and maybe I'd have been able to keep your soulmate away from you but--” his shoulders drop and his voice goes quiet, “I wanted to keep you so bad, I ended up being the one pushing you away.”

 

Neither of them talk for a few seconds. Leo studies his reaction, and Neymar is too astounded to react.

 

“Oh god,” Neymar finally forces himself to speak. “Are you for real? Please tell me it's not a joke.”

 

“It's not a joke. I'm sorry it took so long.”

 

Leo carefully walks to the couch and sits down next to him. He studies his face, and gently wipes away the tears that are apparently running on his cheeks.

 

“I love you,” Leo mumbles.

 

“Do you want to see it?” Neymar asks, voice high-pitched.

 

Leo nods eagerly, and there's a soft _please_ leaving his mouth.

 

Neymar tries to make quick work of his shorts. His hands are unsure and shaky and it takes ridiculously long before the letters _Lio Mes_ appears, and then he rolls the leg of his boxer briefs up to allow Leo to see his mark fully.

 

“Fuck,” is Leo's first reaction. His hands shoot out and Neymar jerks when he feels them, cold against his burning skin. Leo crowds into his personal space, breathing shakily. “I hope I'm not wrong. God I hope I'm not wrong.”

 

“ _I_ am not wrong. I'm yours, I'll always be yours.”

 

Leo presses his thumbs on the little dots above the _i_ , and then he traces his own name with shaky fingers. And then he surges forward, kissing him, and Neymar immediately latches onto him, everything that was rotten inside coming back to life at once, spring overtaking his body and suddenly he's alive and vibrant again.

 

“Say it again,” Leo murmurs, desperate, against his lips. “That you're mine.”

 

“I'm yours.”

 

Leo sighs with relief, diving back into the kiss. He moves Neymar without him noticing, and then he gently presses his body down into the couch. Leo kisses his jaw, his throat, and then goes down slowly until he's reached the exact spot where his hand is. He nuzzles his inner thigh, presses his face against his mark and kisses it, murmuring _mine_ against his skin.

 

His mark is getting wet, a mixture of saliva and tears, Leo crying as he nuzzles his thigh, shaking like a leaf.

 

“I thought I had no one,” Leo whispers. “I thought I was unlovable.”

 

“I love you”, Neymar says, gripping his hair.

 

“I thought _you_ couldn't love me.”

 

“I love you”, Neymar repeats.

 

And Neymar lets him kiss and nuzzle for as long as he wants, lets him caress his body, stroke his thigh and suck hickeys after hickeys on his throat. It isn't long before arousal makes itself known, Leo peppering kisses on his inner thigh too close to his crotch for his body to stay indifferent.

 

He tries to push Leo off then but all Leo has to say is, _I'll take care of you_ , and so Neymar gives himself freely, and it's easy. Leo's mouth is warm and careful and reverent, skilled like they'd fucked yesterday instead of three months ago, and when Leo holds him and they're both sweaty, and Leo's palm is still pressed on his inner-thigh like it never wants to leave, Leo murmurs into his neck _it's you, I'm so glad it's you_.

 

 

–

 

 

One day, during a press conference, when they probe and poke about his soulmate like journalists are bound to, Neymar takes off his pants and shows off his mark, and when the room erupts in a cacophony, he grins proudly and says, “I'm a wag.”

 

And if the board isn't happy with that, Leo certainly is, kissing him in the corridor and calling him an idiot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes while I'm thinking about it :  
> \- The story starts when Neymar is 16, meaning it's 2008 and he isn't a professional yet. At the other end of the world, Barça is at the start of of its sextuple-winning season. Leo is 21 (floppy long hair !)  
> \- Leo and Neymar supposedly met for the first time in a 2010 match between Argentina and Brazil, but as it is I made their first meeting be the match between Santos and Barça in December 2011 because Neymar looked ridiculous.  
> \- Neymar goes to Barça in 2013. It's not a nice season - he's injured, Leo is injured, Tito Vilanova dies, and Barça wins nothing.  
> \- The 2014 World Cup was hosted in Brazil. Neymar's back was broken in a match and he was out out for a few months (had to wear a corset for his back). Brazil lost the next match against Germany 7-1. Argentina went to the finals but lost against Germany too.  
> \- 2014-2015 : despite Barça winning the treble at the end, still an eventful season. In January, Barça lost against Real Sociedad because of an own goal, the coach was heavily criticized, there were reported tension between him and Messi over a foul Lucho refused to award in a match during training.  
> \- additionally, Neymar had a goal drought. It's hard to say how long it lasted exactly, but probably a good three months, from February to April.
> 
> Anyway here, notes for future readers. I hope you enjoyed it !


End file.
